


Wayward Children

by blue like winter (bleucommelhiver)



Series: hope in the darkness of night [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Love/Hate, Multi, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-24 14:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9767102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleucommelhiver/pseuds/blue%20like%20winter
Summary: ch5.The soft exhale of his name makes his heart beat double-time. He wants, hewants, but he knows he cannot.You finally find your place in life with the Glaives, only for it to be torn away on the eve of the Lucian-Niflheimian Peace treaty. Left with nothing more than the promise you’ve made to your King, you struggle to fulfill your duties to the Crown Prince. Especially since you’ve left your heart back in Insomnia with the hero of the Kingsglaive.This is your story, a story of love lost and absolution on a journey to defy the fates. Gods be damned, this isyourlife.





	1. Kin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsatisfied with the story and ending of XV, I wanted to weave the stories of the game, Kingsglaive, and Brotherhood together into one with you (the reader) as an outsider, rediscovering your role in Noctis' life throughout his journey. This will not be a retelling of the events of the game, rather, it will be a story on how Noctis and co. attempt to rewrite their destiny.
> 
> The initial focus of this story will concentrate on your relationship with Nyx. As the story progresses it will develop into a slow, slow burn with Noctis with something else thrown in.
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

_O’er warred lands, under brimstone sky, bloodless Kin to the Chosen begot._

_Vestal amongst daemons, blessed of face, this vitiated heart the Gods have sought._

_For only when the darkness reigns, shall light cometh and Peace be wrought._

_“Long live the King, and his Glaive sublime, for her Sacrifice will not come to naught._

— **_Lost Articles_ _of_ _Nadir,_ _15:3_**

 

* * *

 

**_M. E. 756, days before the fall of Insomnia…_ **

 

You take a deep breath before pushing open the opulent doors to the throne room. The grand hall is empty except for the King seated upon his throne and Titus Drautos, commander of the Kingsglaive, on the dais below. Your captain turns to acknowledge your entrance as you bow and address them from the foot of the throne.

“Your Majesty. Captain Drautos.”

King Regis waves a tired hand, “You know very well there is no need for this formality.”

Reflexively, your brow rises questioningly. You stance relaxes but you keep your arms latched respectfully behind your back.

“Walk with me,” he commands of you.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The King throws an amused look at you as he descends his throne.

“We will continue this later, Drautos.”

A look of irritation passes Captain Drautos’ face.  You are almost certain he is about to object when he fixes his expression into one of blank indifference. Even after years under his command, it still disarms you to catch the fleeting looks of irritation and disdain that flit across his face when he forgets himself in the King’s presence, but you’ve learned to brush those instances off as part of your captain’s charmingly choleric disposition.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

King Regis strides out of the throne room, moving more lithely than one would expect of a man who is aided by the use of a cane. You jog to catch up, following him into the corridor that leads to the balconies overlooking the central courtyard. He is silent as you pass the saluting guards and only begins to speak once he is certain that you would not be overheard.

“I need you to accompany Noctis on his journey to Lady Lunafreya.”

“No,” you reply without thinking.

The King looks at you sharply, bristling at your curt response but does not lessen the pace he has set out. Both of you continue in silence until you abruptly stop to the metallic peals of swords reverberating in staccato from the shaded courtyard below. Through habit ingrained by years of discipline, your grip around the dagger strapped at your waist tightens.

“My place is here with you, with the rest of the Kingsglaive. My duty is to serve and protect, _for hearth and home._ ”

He stops to turn and study you. For the first time, you notice he seems a haggard man, decades older than he actually is. Worry lines mar his temples and his parlor is so pallid you can see the striae of ashen blue capillaries curling around his temples like death’s cold breath.

“Yes, your duty is to _serve_. Do not make me command you as your King.”

You bite your lip at the reprimand. It has been a long time since King Regis has used that tone with you.

“I want to stay here with you,” you push.

 _I don’t want to lose you too_.

“I know,” he sighs as he continues towards the balcony. You hesitate to follow, but it’s obvious he has no intentions of waiting for you. “Please. Indulge me.”

“Why? He already has Gladiolus and Ignis. Noctis will be in capable ha—” Your mouth clamps shut as you round the corner and realize it’s Gladiolus himself and Noctis, sparring down below.

You watch intently as the sweat-sheened Prince matches his Shield blow for blow, blinking through attacks with ease. His grace comes as a surprise to you. Growing up Noctis was gangly and awkward, posture suffering from childhood injuries and limbs far too long for his slender frame. He’s grown though, lean muscle, from hours of Gladious imposed rigorous training, covering every wiry inch of his broad chest.

The sinew of his back strains under the weight of his weapon, but Noctis is nimble like a dancer when he whips the sword around, nearly catching Galdiolus off guard. Gone are the days where he could easily knock the sword out of the Prince’s grip.

You straighten your back watching the scene before you, more resolved than ever. “If he can keep up with Gladiolus, he doesn’t need me,” you say softly, as you try to decipher the true motives of the aging King before you.

King Regis’ grip tightens around the marble parapet, leaning slightly over the balcony. “He needs you more than I need you. If— _when_ I fall…”

You recoil at the statement but he continues on.

“Noctis _will_ be the one to save us all. My son, he carries a burden greater than mine. His path is not an easy one.”

“But why—”

“I did not want you to choose the life of a Glaive. I acquiesced because I love you, but these powers I have bestowed, I can take away just as easily.”

Looking down at your hands, you feel the weight of his words wash over you and feel smaller than you’ve ever had. This power is the only connection you have left to your parents; mere commoners that lived on the outskirts of Lucis’ vast territories, who had wanted to raise their child behind the safety of the Wall. And so they joined the Kingsglaive for that very privilege. Little did they know, they would lose their lives shortly after in the attack on Tenebrae.

“I wanted to honor my parents’ memory. It’s all I have left,” you mumble.

His expression softens and he places a hand on your shoulder, “You know that is untrue. You’ll always have a place by my side, but now, I need you to stand by Noctis. This power—” His hands glow blue as he places them over yours. The tendrils of magic intertwine your fingers and you feel its coolness seep through your skin, prickling as it climbs higher and higher through your arm.  “—connects us both. If something goes awry during signing with Niflheim, you will be the first to know. I trust you will know what to do when the time comes.”

“I— Captain Drautos would be better suited for this.”

“It pains me to see my children grow so estranged that you would refuse me of this.”

Averting his gaze, you focus on observing the sparring men. You watch as Noctis warps in front of Gladiolus and knocks his Greatsword away, whooping as he manages to knock the lumbering man on to his back. However, Gladiolus is quick to rise and closes the distance between them, ensnaring Noctis in a chokehold as he proudly musses the Prince’s sweat-matted hair. The sounds of their laughter ring throughout and you can’t help but smile forlornly.

You miss the days when the Prince’s smile and laughter came freely in your presence too. Perhaps you reminisced through rose-tinted lenses, but sometimes you found yourself yearning for the days when the both of you ran carelessly like barbarians about the Citadel, dodging disgruntled servants and shrieking nannies, hand in hand, giggling as you both tumbled into the King’s study. Regis would frown and chastise, but not before gathering the both of you in his arms and swinging his favorite children around wildly.

Fingers tightening around his, it hits you again just how much you’ve grown to love this man who’s been a better father than you could have ever hoped for in these past twelve years.

“Let this old man be selfish for once. I am doing this for my son as much as I am doing this for you, Daughter.”

The tenderness in his voice is overwhelming and you feel as contrite as a petulant child denied their favorite snack. How could you refuse the man who’s taken you in as his own? The man who embraced the crying eight-year-old girl and brought her into his family instead of letting her fend for herself in one of the many overrun orphanages of Insomnia's slums.

“Ok, papa,” you mumble softly into your surrogate father’s chest as he brings his arms around you.

He rests his chin atop your head and murmurs, "I only ask that this remains between us, for I hope what I fear may never come to pass and that my actions today are just those of an overly protective father."

A feeling of warmth engulfs you whole. You want to savor it, tuck the memory deep in your heart because you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the last time you see him.

…so you cling on tighter, just a little while longer.

* * *

 

King Regis warily enters the sterile room that houses the burden of his line and the salvation of his people. Immediately the hairs on his nape prickle to attention. Even after all these years, the thick thrum of magic that emanates from the Crystal still makes his body tremble ebrious with power.

“ _It is futile to send her away_ ,” the voice within the Crystal booms.

“I doomed her when I selfishly took her in to fulfill the prophecy of yours — a sacrifice of a bloodless kin in the stead of the anointed King to bring forth the Light. I condemned an innocent for my own son’s safety, and now I have condemned the rest of Lucis for Insomnia’s sanctuary. No, I refuse to be further complicit in her doom. After all these years, I’ve come to love her as my own.”

“ _Regardless, young King, you know what must will come to pass. You delay only the inevitable._ ”

Regis turns away from the eerily lucent Crystal, his hands tightly clenched upon his cane to lessen the strain on his crippled leg. The magic clings to his skin like morning dew on web. His head throbs like the pounding of war drums. The crown has never felt heavier.

“Come what may, I will not knowingly put her in harm’s way.”

He no longer stands proud and defiant as he once did. His back is slouched and his shoulders are slumped, a look of perpetual weariness permanent on his visage. Pausing at the entrance of the vault, he looks once more upon the accursed Crystal that’s taken everything from him — his father, mother, wife, and now…children.

“There is no other way?”

“ _What is ordained must come to pass_ ,” Bahamut repeats, voice steely cold, “ _You saw the alternative – the Oracle slain at the hand of your son and the world plunged into eternal darkness._ ”

“Yes…Of course.”


	2. Glaive

**_You have one new message. To play the message press one. To delete the—_ **

**_First message: May 14 th, 10:08AM._ **

_Hi sweetie…it’s me, Carys._

_Sorry to call again, but I still haven’t been able to get a hold of him. It’s been…what? 12 years since he left and he still can’t spare his mother a phone call…_

_It was good to see you. I…I hope you’ll make a trip out to Galahd with the King again. I’ve missed you…_

_I’ve missed him too._

_Tell Nyx there’s nothing to forgive, that I love him and please, thank him for all money he’s been sending home. It’s been a great help, keeping our provisions stocked, letting us to buy more weapons to defend ourselves…but…I just want to hear my boy’s voice again._

_Anyway, give this old lady a call back when you can._

_I love you both._

**_End of message._ **

 

* * *

 

**_M. E. 756, 12 th of May, eve of departure…_ **

 

The phone rings only once before Noctis answers his cell with an apprehensive, “Hello?”

You suppose it’s weird for him to see your name pop up on his cellphone, but with how strained your relationship is now, you’re surprised he even answered. Perhaps he thought it had to be urgent if you bothered to call. The last time you had was months ago, and that was only because father had collapsed from overexertion, the strain of trying to maintain the Wall during the weeklong attack on the western territories was too much for his body to handle or so you overheard the doctors telling Clarus.

“Hi Noctis,” you say, voice smaller and quieter than you intended.

“Hey.” Even through the phone, you can picture his reluctance. “What’s up?”

“I, um…Father thought it best that at least one of us could be present for your wedding,” you try to pass off casually as if you joining his last hurrah as a bachelor with his all-male-dream-team wouldn’t be a major bummer him and you combined.

“Oh.”

It doesn’t come as a surprise that Noctis seems less than enthused at the news, but his apathy still stings. More than anything, it hurts that he doesn't seem to care about anything regarding you anymore. Annoyance, even anger would be more welcome than this cold indifference.

But he doesn’t say much else so you babble to fill the stifling hum of your phones.

“I, uh, never got a chance to congratulate you, so, congrats. On the wedding. With Lun— er, Lady Lunafreya,” the words tumble out ineloquently before you can stop yourself. “She’s beautiful and kind. You’re lucky. I mean, she’s lucky to have you too, but, uh, it could be worse right? The Nifs could’ve chosen a fiancée that looked like a Behemoth,” you joke lamely. Embarrassed, you slap your hand against your forehead in self-exasperation. “Do you…need help with preparations?”

“…Thanks? I guess. We’ve got everything covered.”

“Oh, alright then.”

More silence.

“We’re leaving tomorrow, 8 AM. Drop by when you’re ready.”

The phone disconnects before you can reply.

You stare at your blank screen before sighing.

_Well, this is going to be a helluva fun trip…_

 

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to you, on the other end, Noctis is also staring at his phone.

Your name glows tauntingly on his phone screen. He closes his eyes for a pained second before clicking the thumbnail next to your name to enlarge the image; it’s the last photo he has of you two together. Prompto had taken it during winter break of high school, back when you were inseparable, back when you did things like go ice-skating during the holidays by Central Station.

In the photo, you’re sitting in the lap of a bemused teenaged-Noctis with your arms around his neck, cheeks pink from the biting cold and head thrown back in laughter. You had lost your balance on the ice and grabbed the closest thing possible in an attempt to allay your fall. Noctis was the unfortunate collateral damage. He had acted cross afterwards, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he held you tightly against himself in the photograph was indisputable.

Later that evening, when Prompto had shown him the series of candid photos, Noctis had yanked the phone out of Prompto’s grasp and jested about deleting them because they were “embarrassing.”Through Prompto’s loud protestations of “C’mon dude!” and whines of “Aw, _man_ ,” Noctis proceeded to scroll through the album, furtively sending himself the photos before deleting them. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was, but the way you had looked nestled in his arms somehow felt too intimate to remain even on his best friend’s camera.

_Lucky, huh? Is that what she really thinks?_

Noctis stares at the photo for a moment longer before clicking his phone off and throwing it aside in frustration.

_Dammit._

 

* * *

 

"Glaives, partner up — mages versus melee combatants — you’ll be sparring today. Last mission, we lost good soldiers when the daemons flanked the ranks. There will not be a repeat of that. You aren’t Nif MTs so don’t fight like one; make your lives count. Mages, focus on tactical retreats and demobilization. The rest of you, frontal assault and shielding."

A resounding, "Yes, sir!" echoes through the briefing room before you are dismissed to partner up.

"Great. This is going to be a blast,"you groan while unhooking the ornamental mage’s cloak from your uniform for mobility’s sake, you were going to need every advantage you could get. At best, you were average at close combat, and depending on whom you partnered with, you were most likely going to end up bruised and aching.

"A little rough and tumble never hurt anyone,"Libertus jests, tapping your leg with one of his crutches.

"Speak for yourself, you get to sit this one out," you pout before motioning towards his injured leg, “Feeling better though?”

Before he could respond, Crowe cuts in, “Even if he was, it’s not like the jerk’s going to admit it if he can play hooky.”

" _Oi_! I’m standing right here you know?"

Ignoring him, Crowe spots Pelna over the top of Libertus’ head and shouts, “Hey Pelna! Partners?"

"No fair," you grumble, scanning the room for a suitably easy partner that won't leave you sore the day before your intended departure. But as luck would have it, Nyx has his eyes on you, smiling like the cat that ate the canary as he saunters towards you.

"Oh, no," you say as you throw your hands up and back away.

"Oh, _yes_ ," he responds with an alarmingly wide smirk.

"Nope. No thank you. Pass."

"Pass? You should be honored a hero like me is willing to take you under his wing," Nyx jests with a bemused grin. “Besides, I think you could use the extra practice.”

You snort unladylike, "Extra practice? I might need it, but only a masochist would be honored to spar with you."

“A little pain’s not so bad.”

Your eyes go comically wide, “S’cuse me?”

“C’mon, don’t knock what you haven’t tried. Live a little.”

“Maybe _you_ should since you’re the one with the repressed fetishes.”

“ _Well_ , why don’t we find out?” he intones suggestively as he waggles his eyebrows.

“Really, I’d rather not. Besides,” you tease, “after twelve years of abuse from you, I think I’m at all set.”

Without a doubt, you know that you won’t stand a chance engaging Nyx in hand-to-hand combat. His physicality and prowess with his kukris are unrivaled in the Kingsglaive. Watching him fight was like following the brushstroke of a calligrapher flit across a page, except his body is the brush and the heavens his canvas. There is a certain artistry in his movements; he employs his whole form, twisting in midair and channeling the momentum into the slash of his blades.

It’s almost beautiful, watching the flash of cerulean and vermillion glimmers as he soars through the air — _almost_ being the operative word because it’s not quite as beautiful when you’re on the receiving end of his aerial onslaughts.

In the time that the two of you have spent bickering, everyone’s paired off and trickling out to the training grounds. You glance around at the now empty room before sighing and throwing Nyx an exasperated glare.

Smirking, he motions to the door, "Guess it’s you and me, _Princess_."

You scowl at the pet name he’s given you from way back in Galahd. As an only child to working parents, you had spent most of your days under the care of Carys Ulric, mother to Selena and Nyx, and in the company of Selena, whom you became fast friends with. Selena was the older sister you never had, just old enough so that you looked up to her, but not so far apart in age to forego the many games of make-believe together you’d get lost in.

Fondly, you remember those games; the wild stories you both dreamt up from the newspaper clippings of the royal families of Lucis and Tenebrae Carys had a habit of leaving around the house. While you both had agreed that Ravus Nox Fleuret was the epitome of princely charm, there could only be one princess to a prince. The obvious solution at that time was to change the game to  _Princes, Princesses, and Knights_ since you both agreed the never smiling Prince Noctis looked too sullen in his permanent garb of black. Embarrassingly, as a child of five that idolized Selena’s seemingly cooler old brother, you excitedly accepted the idea, christening Nyx your knight in shining armor, _Sir_ Nyx Ulric.

To this day, he still hasn’t let you live it down.

A little teasing wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t dredge up painful memories of the past. Mother, Father, Selena, they all used to call you their little princess too. Now that they’re gone, the title is just a reminder of what you’ve lost that aches like the dull flicker of a waning bulb. The irony’s not lost on you that now that you were technically a princess of Lucis you abhorred the title.

But as much as Nyx loves to tease you, you understand that he doesn’t use that term of endearment maliciously. He still calls you princess because it reminds him of a time when Selena’s laughter twinkled through the household as you played your silly game together. It reminds him of bygone days, of boisterous days in the Ulric household where war was but a distant concept. Because you understand he needs this, you bear it.

Begrudgingly, you poke him in the chest, “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” he replies amused, as if he’d ever cancel on you. “It’s a date.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you brush off his comment, you’re used to it by now. Nyx can be infuriatingly flirtatious at the most inappropriate situations. You’re half convinced that the rumors are true and the real reason for his perpetual station at the West Wall is because Captain Drautos had been a target of his cheeky remarks one too many times. “Well, go easy on me if you want me to make it.”

“I’ll be gentle. Wouldn’t let you miss it for the world.”

You roll your eyes as you walk towards the training grounds. Once there, you childishly stick your tongue out at him and yank one of his kukris from its holster and throw it towards the opposite end of the yard without warning.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding m—,” is the last thing you hear as you let the pull of your magic wash over you, your body unpleasantly disassembling and yanking you towards your anchor. Your stomach somersaults, it feels almost like falling, but in zero gravity.

Nyx makes warping look easy, like it comes second nature to him. You learned the hard way that warping, for most people, is an entirely unpleasant experience when you hurled your breakfast after your first attempt. The tingle that runs through the body as your atoms separate is faint enough that it doesn't bother most, it's the jerk of rapidly relocating that throws most off.

When you first joined the Kingsglaive at fifteen, you were abysmal at warping. After watching you fail and flail pathetically on to the safety nets for a week straight, Nyx had taken pity on you and shared his  
“secret” for warping.

"Just let go and give in to it. Don't try to control it, let it guide you. Remember the magic's not ours, but just on loan from the King.”

He placed his kukri firmly in your grasp and said, “Here, I'll show you,” before wrapping one arm firmly around your waist.

"Ready?" was your only warning before he threw his other kukri high into the air, higher than you’ve ever dared. Your whole body tensed, preparing for the worst.

"Don't panic. I’ve got you."

With that you were both flying through the sky, faster and higher than you've ever had before. Whenever his fingers grasped the dagger mid-flight, he quickly tossed it higher and higher with each flick of his wrist. Despite your initial apprehension, you began to exult at spiraling through the air in Nyx’s arms with his braids whipping against your cheeks as your hair loosened wildly. It felt like freedom and home combined, like swinging off the mossy vines of Galahd Canyon and into the crystal clear rapids below on halcyon summer days.

You remember you had laughed until tears formed at the corner of your eyes, a little bit out of anxiety, but mostly from the sheer exuberance of soaring through the heavens as you clung tightly to Nyx. You laughed and laughed until he decided to unceremoniously drop you at the zenith of his warp.

Too livid to panic, you had impulsively thrown the kukri you clutched in your hands at him and accomplished your first successful warp that ended with a swing at Nyx’s smug mug. Luckily for Nyx, you misjudged the distance and your fist only grazed his jaw. Unluckily for you, it had resulted in an unbearably arrogant and smug Nyx for the subsequent months.

You’re determined not to give him that satisfaction again. And if that meant playing a little dirty, so be it.

 

* * *

 

Despite your head start, you know Nyx isn’t far behind. The burning sparks of his magic graze your skin more and more with each subsequent warp. It’ll only be a matter of time before he’s able to predict your trajectory so you decide to switch tactics and abruptly stop warping, letting gravity accelerate your descent from midair.

Being the seasoned fighter that he is, Nyx catches on quickly and the distinct cackle of his magic next to your ear alerts you to his proximity. You erect a precautionary shield and grin when you hear him collide into your barrier with a grunt. Feinting backward, you unsheathe your dagger just in time to stop his blade inches from your chest.

“Not bad, Princess.”

The words barely finish leaving his mouth before you find yourself dodging a crudely aimed fireball.

“You call this being gentle?!”

The only response you get is a slight upward twitch of his lips that forms into a smug leer as he watches you warp further away. The predatory glint in his eyes makes them shine sapphire and then platinum. Adrenaline rushes through you as you recognize the same visage countless times before on a Coeurl that’s about to strike.

Your brief escape only served to fuel him. It sends a shudder through you that Nyx is enjoying the pursuit far more than he should.

A sharp gust cuts through your hair. You feel his kukri whiz past your cheek, close enough that it draws blood.

_Shit._

Too slow to react, you find yourself abruptly slammed out of the sky and into the ground by Nyx’s hard chest. The two of you tumble in the dirt, struggling for dominance and purchase. Finding an opening, you roll out and cast a hurried blizzard spell before blinking a few steps back. Powder white explodes around Nyx, obscuring his vision and slowing his movements enough for you to throw a roiling thunder spell at him through your open palm.

The shock of electricity as it courses through his body dazes Nyx temporarily. Taking advantage of his stupor, you wrench his remaining kukri from his grasp and toss it far to the side before tackling him to the ground. Straddling his waist, you grasp his gelid arms with both hands and pin them above his head, far from the reach of the throwing knives strapped to his waist.

If you were in a more benevolent mood, you’d feel guilty at how frigid his skin feels against yours, but adrenaline is rushing and you’re still miffed that he didn’t hold back as promised. Pushing forward, you press your whole weight down to keep his arms secured.

“I win,” you declare triumphantly.

Nyx responds with a raised eyebrow and mouths, ‘ _Oh_ _yeah_?’ before breaking from your grasp and flipping you over without so much a grunt. His legs now straddle the space just outside your thighs, caging your body with his as he holds your wrists together above your head with only one hand. His skin is abnormally warm, too warm for someone who’s just been hit with a blizzard spell. You notice he’s smoking through his uniform and realize then, that he had focused his magic internally to thaw his limbs.

_When did Nyx become so adept at manipulating fire?_

He leans down close to gloat, “Actually, looks like _I_ win.”

You glare at him indignantly as the beginning of another thunder spell forms at your fingertips. Nyx feels the faint current run through him and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, betraying your ploy to him.

“I _wouldn’t_ if I were you.”

“Or else _what_?”

“Or else…” he grins roguishly as he tickles your side with his free hand.

You begin to laugh uncontrollably as his fingers dance up and down your side.

“S-stop!” you manage to gasp out between shallow breaths as you thrash against the confines of his hand.

Tears brim your eyes as the unbearable sensation intensifies. Your efforts to escape become increasingly desperate. Bucking beneath the warmth of his thighs, you begin to beg.

"A-ah... _Nyx_! _Please_."

His pewter eyes lock with yours. Hearing the desperation in your voice, his movements stop and the smirk falls from his face. It’s replaced by a veiled look you can’t decipher. Nyx leans in until you can feel the prickle of his facial hair against your cheek and the sweep of his braids on your neck. You're dimly aware that he smells of salt and ash, like freshly burnt firewood, different from his usual cedar musk. Your chest is heaving and you can’t tell if it’s from exertion or exhilaration at his proximity.

His voice is low and rough when he challenges you, “And what if I don’t?”

You wrack your brain for a retort, but while his fingers are no longer tickling, the warm press of his palm on your sides and the tightening of his fingers on your wrists are still distracting. You can feel the unnatural heat of his body radiating through the thick leather of your uniforms and it makes you lightheaded. Just from the way his breath tickles your neck, you can tell his lips are mere centimeters from grazing your skin. The thought of his soft lips dragging slowly down your neck sends a palpable shiver through you.

Mortified at your train of thought, you renew your efforts to escape, this time using your free limbs to unbalance him. Arching your back, you slide your legs out from under his and latch one around his thigh and the other around his waist. Putting weight into your legs, you attempt to twist him off to the side, but a loud hoot from Crowe interrupts your concentration leaving you paused mid-action, legs tangled indecently around is him.

“Get a room you two!”

Frantically, you disentangle from each other as it hits the both of you the suggestive nature of the position you were in seconds ago. _Gods_ , you had your legs wrapped around him like it was nothing while he held you down vulnerable and exposed. How did you not _think_ before you acted?

Nyx is sitting a few feet away from you, his arm resting on a propped leg, and trying hard to avoid your gaze. You push yourself up onto your elbows and sneak a glance at him as he responds to Crowe. You’re surprised to see he looks as flushed and breathless as you felt.

“C’mon Crowe, it was just some friendly sparring.”

“I don’t know what kind of sparring you’re doing, but let me in on it with her next,” Tredd jeers.

Crowe chortles as she offers you a hand to help you up. “Yeah hero, don’t hog all the fun.”

The tension falls from his eyes as he plops onto his back and stares into the dusking sky, cocksure grin back in place.

“Don’t worry. Plenty more from where that came from.”


	3. Intoxicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _For update notes, aesthetic boards, and headcanons for this story, check out[bleucommelhiver.tumblr.com](https://bleucommelhiver.tumblr.com)._

_**Les-Sines  
Insomnia Times Critic's Pick |** **★★★★ | Galahdan, Tapas | $$$$ | West Gate District**_

_The taste of Galahd is something one will never forget in their lifetime. Unlike Insomnia, blessed with vast fields of farmland, Galahd is comprised of mountainous archipelagos where arable land is a scarce resource. Galahdans must forage and hunt during warmer months, as a result, they’ve developed unique methods of preserving meats and vegetables for their long winters. Meats of Anak are spiced with a blend of aegir root, schier murmeric, and hulldagh nutmet before smoked and aged, Galahdan peppers are preserved in white graeis vinegar and blue anise, and so on. The complexity of their dishes makes it hard to find an authentic eatery in Insomnia, but Les-Sines…_

 

* * *

 

**_M. E. 756, 12 th of May, eve of departure…_ **

 

_Shitshitshitshit._

After sitting in Insomnia’s notorious rush hour traffic for the better part of the last forty-five minutes, you finally decide to ditch your driver and make the rest of the trip on foot. You weave your way through the bustling crowd, jogging as fast as you can in three-inch high stilettos. The dress is tight around your legs, but thankfully the slit along the back allows enough mobility for the impromptu jog.

Honestly, why did this place enforce a formal dress code? You start lamenting your choice in the restaurant when you spot Nyx leaning against the wall adjacent to the entrance, dressed in a slim cut navy suit, jacket in hand and collar unbuttoned. He looks slightly uncomfortable in his outfit, hand tugging at his collar every few seconds like a nervous young teen waiting for his prom date.

Nyx Ulric, Hero of the Kingsglaive, slayer of daemons and veteran of countless battles, reduced to looking like an anxious boy. Right. _That’s_ why. Pushing his buttons was something you’d never been able to pass up on.

He’s fidgeting with his cell phone when he looks up to see you struggling over. His apprehensive countenance fades at the sight of you and he pushes off from the wall to meet you halfway.

Smirking, he bows mockingly, “You’re late, your Highness.”

“Well, I’m worth the wait,” you throw back at him with a roll of your eyes. Hunched over with hands resting on your thighs for support, you pant to catch your breath. “Also, I told you not to call me that.” You glare at him through your lashes, cheeks red with effort and hair blown in disarray.

“Why not? It _is_ what you are.”

“You and I both know full well I am just a lowly commoner from Galahd like you.”

“You wound me, Princess,” he teases, clutching his chest in mock outrage.

You scowl at him before remembering why you’ve invited him to dinner and immediately begin to sulk.

“You can be a real jerk sometimes,” you grouse as you push past him, making your way towards the restaurant.

Nyx sprints ahead to hold the door open for you. He throws you a shit-eating grin and winks saucily, “I can be your prince charming if you ask nicely.”

“Ew. Don’t— don’t be absurd.”

Despite your words, you feel the warmth in your cheeks flare up. You know better than to let Nyx's beguiling remarks affect you, but when he turned on the charm, even you were not immune.

There’s no doubt that thirty-something-year-old Nyx Ulric is a handsome man. His Galahdan tattoos are distinct, but even with those markings, you’ve seen your share of Lucian noblewomen salaciously propositioning him as if it was a privilege for him that they’ve taken interest.

Honestly, you think they’re a bit too strategically placed — one on the corner of his left eye, drawing attention to the paleness of his storm-grey eyes that crinkle whenever he smiled, another on the peak of his cheekbones, accentuating his stupidly strong and infuriating jawline, and one more that begins right behind his ear, lining the side of his neck until it disappears distractingly into the collar of his shirt — for it to be a coincidence.

You’re embarrassed to admit that you’ve also noticed the faint tattoos that adorn the shell of his ears, and that you’ve peeked at him shirtless enough times to have memorized the sloping lines across the broad plane of his back and the intricate lines that hug his arm and leg. But what bothers you the most is how you noticed the two on his fingers — one running suggestively down his left middle finger and the other along his right index — and _wondered_ about Nyx Ulric’s neatly trimmed fingers.

No doubt about it, Nyx turned heads wherever he went, in uniform and out. Of course, the rigorous training of Glaives doesn’t help matters. His outfit tonight only highlights that — navy-blue slim cut wool trousers that strain at his thighs and a crisp white dress shirt, top three buttons undone, with the sleeves rolled up so that one could observe the taut muscles of his forearms flex at the slightest movement. His matching suit jacket is hooked on the crook of his finger, slung casually over one shoulder. In another lifetime, he could’ve been a model.

But, between the ten years’ age difference and the fact that he used to _babysit_ you (a fact he never lets you forget), it’s hard to take his flirtation seriously.

“Awww,” he ribs. “Don’t be like that. It’s been too long since we’ve actually spent time together. And no, training and missions don’t count.” He motions for the maître d’. “You look good by the way.”

Your blush deepens as you smooth out your dress. It’s an elegant halter dress held up by a golden circlet that rests at your clavicle. The thick black silk drapes over your chest modestly but swoops low in back, resting at the juncture of your waist. Nyx clears his throat loudly as you bend over to check if you’ve ruined your stilettos from the short jog over.

Finding everything in order, you straighten up. While fidgeting with your hair, you study his profile before breaking into a sly smirk. In an effort to make him feel as self-conscious as he made you, you eye him blatantly up and down.

“Not too shabby yourself. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to impress a hot date.”

Internally, you hoot in glee as you witness a faint tinge of pink dust his cheeks.

_Two can play this game, jerk._

However, not one to be easily flustered nor out done, Nyx's lips crook in a mischievous smile that never bodes well for you. As he moves to invade your space, the warmth of his breath falls upon your neck, making goose pimples rise upon your arms. He's so close you can almost feel the ghost of his lips brush against the shell of your ear at his next words.

"Impress a hot date? Maybe I am."

The rough timber of his voice reverberates through your chest, making you suddenly feel extremely underdressed. You bring your hands up to rub your arms, hoping to alleviate and hide the effect his sudden proximity has on you. If he knew, if he somehow found out, he'd never let you live it down. It's wrong to feel this way about him, about the man who is practically your brother in everything but blood and name, but it's hard not to, not when he teases you like this.

You're shaken out of your daze by the maître d’s impatient clearing of his throat.

“Sir,” he states primly.

Nyx to steps back abruptly and turns his head around so quickly you're almost afraid he'd get whiplash.

“Sir, your tie and jacket.” He motions at Nyx’s state of dress.

“Right,” Nyx replies as he runs his hand through his hair sheepishly.

He begins to straighten out his outfit, smoothing his sleeves down and buttoning his shirt one by one with nimble fingers. You can't help but admire the flex of his forearm and the smooth motion in which he throws his jacket on. It’s frustrating that he can make the simple act of putting on clothing seductive. It’s only a little disturbing that you find yourself thinking that.

Pulling his tie out from his pocket, Nyx's brow furrows as he tries to decide how to go about tying it without a mirror. You snicker but hold out your hand in an offer to help.

“Gimme that,” you murmur.

You loop the silk around his collar and tug to pull him close, except he stiffens from the unexpected gesture causing you to lose your balance and collide into his broad chest. Instinctively, he grabs your hips to help you regain your footing. You feel his breath tickle your ear as he inhales deeply.

_She’s so close._

“Careful,” he breathes out, voice tight and grip even tighter.

_I can’t._

You make the mistake of looking up and your heart skips a beat. His expression is nebulous, as if conflicted over your sudden proximity. But it’s his gaze that has you reeling. Nyx is watching you intently through hooded lids, eyes not their usual twinkling, sterling blue, but darkened by dilated pupils, reminding you of the never-ending milky way you used to sleep under during camping trips together in the highlands of Galahd.

_I shouldn’t._

His breath mingles with yours with each exhale. Dimly, you note he tastes of bitter honeyed ale. Swallowing hard, you lick your lips out of nervousness. If you’d just lift your chin, you’d be able to bridge the gap…

_One taste, just one–_

The tightening of his hands on your hips makes you squeak out nervously, “My mistake!”

Nyx drops his hands as if burned. His eyes lose their tumultuous appetence and confusingly, you find yourself disappointed.

Wanting to put the awkward moment behind, you methodically finish tying the Windsor knot, patting him lightly on the chest before backing away four steps, creating a valley of distance.

“There you go. All done!” you chirp in a falsely cheery voice.

“Thanks,” he replies voice strained, looking away.

_What the fuck just happened?_

 

 

* * *

 

Nyx follows distractedly as you are led to your table. _What the fuck just happened? Did we— did I almost kiss her?_ He tries to shake the thoughts from his mind, but the sway of your hips as you walk is too distracting

Really, you shouldn’t be wearing a dress like that. Sure, by now he’s well versed with the curves and dips of your body; the skintight Glaives uniform really doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but _still,_ it’s utterly inappropriate for you to be wearing a dress like that in public. Especially since he can count the hollows of your spine down the naked expanse of your back and watch the silk strain against your ass with each step you take. Because if he can, it means all other eyes in the restaurant can as well.

King or not, Nyx thinks he needs to have a little chat with your father about appropriate attire. He knows King Regis loves and dotes on you, but why he lets you wear what you do is beyond Nyx. Like that ballgown you wore at the last gala! Granted, it wasn’t a particularly revealing dress with its conservative neckline and long sleeves. Except the whole dress was constructed with black lace on translucent chiffon, making it look like you were only wearing bits of lace along the contour of your bodice and skirt. Even without being revealing, it was provocative, teasing at what laid beneath intricate patterns.

Guard duty that night had been particularly torturous. Sure, wall duty was boring and monotonous as hell, but at least then, he wasn’t on edge with thoughts of maiming everyone in your general vicinity for hours on end. It was hard to act professionally when he couldn't help but follow your form flitting across the ballroom only to realize his weren’t the only eyes on you. Interestingly enough, he had caught the Prince himself amongst the men sneaking sidelong glances that evening.

Nyx couldn’t blame them; you had looked so pretty with your hair tied in an elegant knot, teardrop sapphires twinkling at your ears, and adorned in nothing besides that deceptively coy lace dress.

When you had come to ask for a dance, whining about the tedium of dancing and feigning interest in boring noblemen, it took more self-restraint than Nyx thought possible to turn you down with a lame, _'Sorry, I’m on guard duty tonight, Princess,_ ' even though that’s never stopped him before. While the other councilors and noblemen derided the act of a princess dancing with a guard, and an immigrant no less, King Regis never cared for propriety when it came to Nyx's relationship with the Princess. The issue didn't lie with others, but with himself.

It was embarrassing, really, but Nyx didn’t trust himself to have his arms around you, not looking like that. Dancing with you as a child in frilly modest gowns was one thing. Dancing with you as a woman, hand pressed on your barely covered back, was a hurdle he wasn’t ready to cross. He’s already come to terms some years ago that you’ve transformed from the endearing little girl who would cling to him for comfort to a much too attractive young woman.

In the beginning, Nyx spent countless nights wondering what sort of perversion ran through his veins that he could nurture these indecent thoughts about a girl that was his little sister in all but blood. Thoughts of how beautiful you've grown to be turned into thoughts of how good you looked in the skin-tight leather of the Glaives uniform. Thoughts of how strong you've become, able to tussle with him in hand-to-hand combat, turned into thoughts of how good you felt, breast pressed against his chest when he pinned you down during training. And thoughts of how sweet your smile was, how you'd light up at the sight of him, turned into thoughts of how sweet your lips would taste and if you'd close your eyes or keep them open when he kissed you.

It was confusing, this newfound attraction he had for you, but Nyx brushed it aside as a case of thinking with his cock when he should be thinking with his head. After all, he was the only family from Galahd you had left. He could never betray the relationship you have or your trust to pursue anything further.

Really, though, he deserved a reward for not pummeling those assholes with wandering hands that twirled you across the dance floor that night.

As you take your seats, Nyx glares at the couple sitting at the table to your left until the man making unsubtle glances in your direction turns away awkwardly.

Yeah, he really needed to speak with King Regis.

 _Soon_.

 

* * *

  

Despite the rocky start to your evening, dinner was more or less perfect. A little _too_ perfect. Suspiciously so. Not once did Nyx make a saucy or smartass comment despite the two bottles of Gallahan wine you shared to calm your nerves after that precarious moment. He was the perfect gentleman, easy to smile, easy to laugh, but something was decidedly off. He was too polite, distant almost.

You sneak a glance at your companion. He’s walking beside you with hands tucked in his pockets, pensively observing the downtown skyline that shimmers across the river. You’re itching to tell him the reason why you’ve invited him out tonight. In fact, you spent the majority of dinner trying to figure out how to broach the topic, but the right moment never came up. Now was a good a time as ever, you suppose…

“What are you thinking about?”

Nyx turns with a start, as if he forgot you were there. “I was, uh,” he hesitates but holds your gaze, “I was thinking of how beautiful you look tonight.”

You feel the blood rush hotly to your cheeks and thank the Gods that the evening sun was low enough to mask your embarrassment. He’s never told you, you were beautiful before. Cute? Plenty of times, usually followed by a patronizing muss of your hair. Pretty? Sure, as in, ‘You look pretty in your ball gown,’ or ‘Your new haircut is very pretty on you,’ but never  _ever_ has Nyx Ulric called you beautiful.

Despite the gentle smile on his face, despite the sincerity in the low husk of his voice, you find yourself skeptical, especially with how different he’s been acting since the start of dinner. Was he messing with you?

You respond the only way you know how, snarky and flippant. “Say that to all the ladies, do you?”

“No. Just you,” he replies earnestly, eyes twinkling.

“You’re drunk.”

“ _Maybe_ …” the corners of his lips twitch up into a sly smirk as he finishes his sentence, “Off of you.”

You let out a breath you weren’t aware you were holding as his face falls into its usual roughish grin. Grinning back, you jest, “OK, Nyx, now I _know_ you’re toying with me. It’s not nice to play with a girl’s heart like that.”

Like that, the atmosphere tenses once more. You and your stupid mouth.

“I—” he starts, “Wait.”

His fingers close tightly around your wrist, tugging you towards him. The moonlight catches strangely in his eyes, and in that moment you think there's hurt and want turbulent in his eyes, but it’s gone when you blink. As the dizzying heat returns to your cheeks, you could do nothing but gape dumbly at him. He’s so close and his fingers feel like fire around your wrist. You want to blame the way your heart skips a beat on the alcohol you shared, but the way it speeds up as he leans in close has you unbelieving of your own lie.

“I, uh… you looked like you could use my jacket,” he finally says as he shrugs his suit jacket off to drape it gently over your shoulders. “There. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”

“Thanks.” You pull the jacket close around you, savoring the warmth of his body heat. It smells like Nyx, the fragrance of damp cedar and earthy moss after a rainy day. It— _he_ smells of _home_ and the thought makes you quiver uncontrollably.

Mistaking the reason for your reaction Nyx asks, “Are you still cold?” while rubbing his hands along your arms in an effort to warm you up.

It does nothing but makes you shudder again, lightheaded; a quiet sort of exhilaration that settles over you like fog. You attempt to step backward to mollify your heart but wobble unsteadily into his chest instead. A huff of frustration escapes your lips. _Seems like all I can manage to do today is fall into his arms._

“Woah, easy there. Had a little too much to drink, Princess?”

Nyx pushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear and lets his hand rest at the juncture of where your ear meets your neck. You look up into his clouded grey eyes and notice his cheeks are slightly pink and his lips slightly parted as his thumb ghosts your nape. The anticipation of waiting for something to happen crashes over you like a wave of adrenaline. _What is it? Nyx, what are you—_

The shrill ring of his cell phone jerks both of you from the moment. Hesitantly, he drops his hand to reach for his phone.

“It’s the captain. I gotta take this,” he apologizes.

You shrug and turn away to lean onto the railing, thankful for the impromptu phone call.

“Yeah, this is Ulric…Sir?” Nyx snorts, “… _Now_? I’m a little preoccupied, _sir_. If you’re looking for a glorified chauffeur, Libertus is free. He owes me one anyway,” Nyx winces as he holds his phone further from his ear, “…Yeah, yeah, understood. Goodnight, sir.”

“Drautos isn’t really just going to let you off like that, is he?”

“Oh, he was a _real_ sweetheart about it. Extra week of Wall duty, but I’m not about to cut our night short to drive the Prince around. Like I said, it’s been a while since we’ve had some time together. Besides…you still haven’t told me why you invited me out on this fancy ‘date’ of yours,” he says as he loops his arm around your waist for a half-hearted hug before pulling you up to continue the walk home.

“Hey! You should appreciate my efforts.”

“I do. But, was quite a place you picked out."

"Only the best for the best, right?"

Nyx throws his head back in laughter, the sound of it deep and rumbling. You smile as the two of you fall into your usual banter and teasing.

"Since it's a special occasion, I wanted to bring you somewhere nice."

"Special occasion?" His brow crinkles in confusion. He's positive he hasn't forgotten anything important, he’s made sure of it after the fuss you made that one time he forgot to pick up the balloons for Crowe’s surprise party.

"Your birthday, you idiot."

"Princess, unless I've hit my head harder than I thought, I'm pretty sure my birthday's not for a few weeks at least."

"I know. I just don't know if I'll be around to celebrate with you, so I wanted to do it ahead of time."

"Planning on going somewhere without me?"

"Yup."

He quirks a bemused brow at you, "Alright, you've got my attention. Where are you running off to?"

"Well, you see...I met this guy," you start off slowly, biting the insides of your cheeks to keep from grinning as you watch Nyx blanch. "He's a great guy but doesn't think much of the city life. We’re thinking about getting hitched and moving somewhere calmer, maybe Lestallum?"

“And why haven’t I had the pleasure of meeting this ‘great’ guy?”

“You always scare them off.”

Nyx scoffs at that. “If they can’t handle a little talk, they’re not worth your time. There’s no way I’m allowing you to get hitched without meeting this ass first. Does Regis know? Who the hell does this guy think he is?”

“You? _Allow_ me? Ok, pops,” you try to grumble, but the laughter bubbling within you is almost too much to contain.

“I’m serious.”

Finally, you burst out laughing at his indignant face, “I’m just joking.”

“You trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Gotta make sure your body’s still in prime working condition.”

“Don’t worry. Got no complaints from the ladies.”

You push him away and make a disgusted face, “TMI Nyx.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You know between Glaive duty and Drautos on my ass all the time, I have no time.”

“Uh huh, you don’t have to justify yourself to me,” you grin, nudging his shoulder with your own. “If you’d stop doing stupid shit to land yourself with Wall duty, you’d have _some_ free time.”

He waves his hand carelessly at your comment. “Where’d the fun be in that?”

“Well, I guess it works out anyways. Better you’re preoccupied. Don’t want you getting into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“Wait. You weren’t serious, were you?”

“Father is sending me to Alissa for Noctis’ wedding. I’m supposed to keep this hush, but I don’t even know how long this’ll take, so I wanted to at least say goodbye to you.” You loop your arm through his and say cheerily, “Yeah, so you should enjoy your time with me while you still can.”

Nyx’s eyes twinkle brightly as he says, “Isn’t that what I’m doing?” before gathering you up in his arms bridal style and jogging towards the apartment complex.

You kick your legs out in an attempt to get down. “Hey!! Put me down! I can walk!”

“Like a slowpoke. I’d rather get back sooner than later so I can get out of this stuffy suit.”

“Who said you were coming over?”

“Who said I was? I was going to run home after I drop you off but…if this is an invite…”

“Ugh. You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it.”

“ _Some_ times,” you groan as you finally relented to being carried because OK, maybe your heels were hurting _just_ a little bit and your body was still _just_ a little sore from the sparring session earlier this afternoon.

For the rest of the walk, or rather, for the rest of Nyx’s jog the air was filled with laughter and lighthearted banter. The sounds of your giggles mingled with his infectious chortles had pedestrians turning to stare, but neither one of you noticed, too enraptured in each other.

“What an adorable couple,” a woman says wistfully to her husband as she leans into his arm under the starlit night.

“Ah, to be young again,” he sighs smiling back at her.

 

* * *

 

When you finally arrive, you’re out of breath from laughter and Nyx from a combination of that and carrying you.

As he sets you down panting, you jest, “Too much for you to handle, old man?”

“Naw, this isn’t even what I call weight training.”

You laugh at his lame joke as you approach the entrance of your condominium — the very same one that Noctis lives in. In fact, you’re neighbors, across-the-hall-neighbors to be exact. Adoptive father or not, Regis was protective and his one condition for the both of you moving out was for you guys to move out to the same place. At least he hadn’t asked you two to be roommates. Grimacing at the unpleasant thought of sharing living quarters with Noctis, you stop at the lobby’s door.

“Well…this is me.”

“Yeah…”

“You wanna come up—”  
“You wanna hang out—”

The both of you burst out laughing and simultaneously reply:

“Sure.”  
“I’d love to.”

You enter your building, excitedly arguing about which movie would be the best one to watch tonight. As you approach the elevators, however, you see the one person you had desperately hoped to avoid until tomorrow. Even from the back, it’s undeniable who that dark-haired man, clad in full black regalia, waiting impatiently for the elevator is.

In your panic to turn, you stumble and latch onto Nyx’s arm for support.

Tenebrous eyes meet yours through silken strands of midnight black hair.

_Too late to turn back now._

“Hi, Noctis…”


	4. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating has been increased to uh...reflect the content of the new chapter.
> 
> After this chapter, the story will start moving at a faster pace! Hope you enjoy :)

_“Tensions mount as refugees have taken to occupying the Citadel Square in protest of the upcoming armistice with Niflheim. The cessation of hostilities come under the terms of Lucis’ forfeiture of its surrounding territories, displacing millions of citizens. Whether or not this transition will be a peaceful one remains to be seen…In other news, the announcement of Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum and Lady Lunafreya Nox Fleurt’s pending nuptials has citizens wondering…”_

— **_LN24 News,_ _May 14 th, 756_**

 

* * *

  

**_M. E. 756, 12 th of May, eve of departure…_ **

Noctis was having an extremely bad day. Bad, in fact, was a severe understatement. Finding out about his sudden engagement to Luna was a shock to be sure, but he hasn't quite figured out exactly how he was supposed to feel about it. 

On the one hand, he loved Luna. Through the years she’s become a dear friend, someone he could talk to, look up to, a confidant. And although their method of communication was slow, and perhaps dated — as children Luna had insisted that a notebook would be a nice keepsake of sorts and Noctis never cared enough to oppose — they made it work.

On the other…well, Noctis wasn’t quite sure he  _loved_  Luna the way he remembered dad loving mom. Regardless, Noctis had come to terms long ago, that as next in line to the throne that one day he’d marry and that it would be most likely a marriage born of political machinations and not love. All things considered, it could be much worse. They would learn to love each other like mom and dad did. 

No, what weighed deeply on Noctis’ mind was the sudden news that  _you_  were coming along and the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about you — the girl who was supposed to be his  _‘sister.’_ The  _sister_  with whom words used to flow so freely suddenly dripped to a stagnant stop. The  _sister_  whom he hasn't had a proper conversation with since fifteen — _not_ , that he didn't want to talk to you.

No. It’s just…Noctis just didn’t know how to anymore.

Whenever he looked at you, his insides would twist so tightly into a knot of confusion and regret that the words on his tongue would disperse like smoke before they could be released. And the times when he managed to say something, you’d look at him with this pained expression that made his insides twist just as unpleasantly. Eventually, Noctis found it easier to avoid you altogether. It was never supposed to be a permanent solution, but somehow you had both fallen into a cycle of avoidance that cumulated to the strange relationship (or, rather, non-relationship) you have today.

That, compounded by the fact that although he had plans to speak with his father, Regis had canceled on him at the last minute. Hell, his own father couldn’t even tell him about his pending engagement. It was Ignis who had come with the news. A quiet, “Congratulations,” and the dossier — containing the marriage license, old Lucian ceremonial customs and a couple briefings on the socio-political situation of Niflheim-occupied-Tenebrae — handled in one breath.

To top it off, his father didn’t even trust him to go home on his own and ordered one of his Glaives to chauffeur him. Something about the situation being delicate and precautions needing to be taken…or so the Glaive had said.

All Noctis wanted to do was go home, play some King’s Knight or whatever before Ignis dropped by to nag him into packing. He  _really_  didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight, but the Gods must really have it in for him today, because the moment Noctis enters the elevator and turns to face the control panel, his eyes widened in surprise as they met the one person he especially hoped to avoid.

 _What’s she doing with_ him _, dressed like that?_

 

* * *

  

 _Just my luck_ , you ruminate as you try your best to shuffle unobtrusively into the all of a sudden much too small elevator. Brushing past Noctis, you hear a sharp intake of breath as his lips draw into a taut line. He stares for a second before deciding to greet you, albeit monotonously.

“Evening,” you mumble back, eyes downcast, finding great interest in elevator’s carpeted floor.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Nyx intones, not bothering to hide his amusement at the stilted atmosphere. 

The three of you stand silently in the unmoving elevator, each seemingly more reluctant than the other to push the button lest an awkward collision from simultaneous attempts occurred. Eventually, Nyx’s impatience wins out and he reaches across to press the button for your floor. The glare that Noctis shoots the man who evidently has been to your place enough times to know what floor you live on has you edging uneasily towards the opposite corner of the elevator.

As the steel doors close your stomach sinks. What should be a minute-long ride starts to feel like an eternity. No one speaks as the elevator makes its slow ascent. You pray to the Gods that the silence continues, but the usually pensive prince unexpectedly tries to engage you in conversation.

“You look nice.” 

The words are indicative of a compliment, but somehow they sound sharp and accusatory coming from Noctis.

“Thanks.” You force a smile and look up, only to catch him examining the obviously-masculine-and-obviously-not-yours-suit-jacket you’re ensconced in with such scrutiny that you self-consciously shrug it off, only to pause at the way his eyes narrow when they fall upon your naked shoulders. Feeling immensely exposed you fidget with the jacket in your hands and back towards the cold metal wall in an effort to obstruct his view of your bare back.

“Special occasion?” he inquires in feigned disinterest as if he wasn’t trying to parse your outfit a mere moment ago.

“Yes.”  
“Hot date actu—”

“What? No!” Blanching, you turn to glare at Nyx.  _What the hell are you doing?_ you attempt to convey with your eyes, but judging from his impish smile he hasn’t quite gotten your message or was being willfully ignorant. Knowing Nyx, it was probably the latter.

“We were just celebrating a special occasion, Your Highness,” he says coyly, lips upturned slightly in an enigmatic smile.

If there was some way to hit Nyx without Noctis noticing, you would’ve done it.

“Right,” the Prince answers curtly, crossing his arms over his chest.

 _21, 22, 23, 24, 25_ —

“And you, Your Highness?”

 _Shut up, Nyx. 26, 27, 28_ —

“The usual,” Noctis grunts noncommittally.

“Ah, of course. The _usual_ ,” Nyx repeats knowingly despite knowing nothing.

 _Shut uppppp. 32, 33, 34, 35_ —  _Ew, is that gum on the carpet? 36, 37, 38_ —

You had expected Nyx’s tongue in cheek comment to effectively kill all possible conversation, but to your dismay, Noctis tries once more to pursue small talk.

“Are you ready? Packed?”

“Ah…not yet.”

“Don’t be late.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep her up late, Your Highness,” Nyx answers mirthfully for you, as he pulls you close before throwing a look at the Prince. Naturally, your eyes follow his…to find Noctis staring with a heated look akin to irritation that simultaneously frustrated and vexed you. 

Noctis’ mouth opens as if to retort but the elevator arrives with a loud ding and he walks out without another glance.

 

* * *

 

The moment you’re in the sanctuary of your apartment, you let out a sigh of relief along with an exasperated, “ _Really_ , Nyx?” before throwing his jacket at him, hitting him square in the chest. You kick your heels off without bothering to put them away, making a beeline for the kitchen. Well familiar with the layout of your place, Nyx hangs back, taking his time to hang up his jacket and put away both your shoes.

From the kitchen, you hear Nyx’s laughter resonate through the apartment as he calls out, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Didn’t realize the prince had such a stick up his ass.”

“He doesn’t…I—he just doesn’t really like me,” you lament while rummaging through the fridge, “This trip is going to be the worst. Almost wish you were coming with.”

“Hey, don’t tempt me!” Nyx shouts from the living room. You can hear him rifling through your drawers for the right movie. “I might actually hound Drautos until he gives in. Also, what’s not to like? Please, I think he was just stunned by how great you look tonight.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Nyx.”

Finding what you’re looking for, you set the items on the countertop and pull out two plates and two champagne flutes. You hear a distant, “Got me here didn’t it?” as Nyx pads to the far side of the living room to slide open the balcony door.

“Would you just—ugh, just, shut up and come over here,” you say exasperatedly as you remove the dessert from its box.

“You didn’t,” Nyx says from behind you, startling you. Sometimes you forget how nimble he is, so coeurl-like in his movements that he barely makes a sound when he moves. His hands are warm upon your hips as he peeks over your shoulder. “Is that a birthday cake? For me?”

You beam proudly as you hold out the homemade cake with ‘Happy Birthday Hero’ scrawled messily across the top and a single lonely candle flickering in the middle. Turning slightly to look over your shoulder, you’re elated to see that Nyx’s face is screwed in an adorable combination of surprise and boyish jubilation. That look upon him is a rare sight and you think proudly to yourself that all the trouble preparing for tonight was worth it if you could see him smile like this.

Happiness bubbles from deep within your chest and for a brief second, you want to tell him you love him, it’s something he needs to hear far more often, but Nyx interrupts with a breathless, “Wow. I…you’re the best.”

“I know. Now make a wish,” you say, beaming.

Hands still upon your hips, Nyx leans over your shoulder, his braids tickling the sensitive skin of your neck as he blows out the candle with a single huff.

“Hey! I wanted a photo of you and my hard work,” you whine.

“Alright, alright,” he says, taking out his cellphone and pulling you close so your entire backside is flush against his. “Hold still.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel his warmth permeating through the cotton of his shirt against your naked back and through the wool of his trousers against the swell of your bottom. For a fleeting moment, the thought of how wonderful the hard planes of his body feel against you flits through your mind.

“Hold up the cake,” he mutters into your ear before pressing a kiss tenderly against your temple. The snap of the camera goes off before you can react. Certain that you’d retaliate, Nyx pulls away quickly, chuckling loudly, a wolfish grin plastered on his face. “Another one for the collection. I think I just found the new background for my lock screen.”

“ _No_.”

From past experience, you knew Nyx only deemed you worthy of gracing his lock screen only if it happened to be an exceedingly embarrassing photograph. Setting the cake down, you lunge for the phone, but he holds it high above you, just out of reach. Nyx fidgets with it for a few seconds before handing it to you proudly.

Already boasting the current time and date on his lock screen, the photograph glows tauntingly back at you. In it, you’re holding the cake with a stupefied expression of wide-eyed surprise, mouth slightly parted with a charmingly innocent Nyx pressing his lips to your temple.

Aghast, you demand he changes it, but Nyx simply waves your hand away with a, “But look how prettily you’re blushing,” and proceeds to text you the photo so you could have ‘matching backgrounds.’

“As _if_ ,” you scoff. You like your current background of Crowe and Libertus making faces next to Nyx’s passed out form _just_ fine, thank you very much. It’s no secret that Nyx has been trying to get you to change that photo for months now, but he’s going to have to try harder.

Nyx lets out a disgruntled, “Fine,” as he helps bring the champagne to the living room, expertly popping it open before filling up the two flutes.

You fall into a companionable silence, settling next to each other on the couch to enjoy the dessert and drink as the movie begins. Turning to ask what movie he chose, you notice a smear of white cream at the corner of his mouth.

Giggling, you point to your own lips. “You got some here.”

Nyx’s tongue peeks out, trying to get the offending cream, but misses.

“Here, let me.” Emboldened by the alcohol you’ve drunk, you lean over and swipe your finger along the corner of his mouth and without thinking, place the same digit in your mouth to lick off the cream.

Nyx’s face flashes from aroused to pained, however, by the time you look up, his face is schooled in a mask of indifference. Even so, there is a perceptible change in his demeanor. His eyes are a deep cobalt, gleaming with intent as he runs his index across the top of his cake, smearing the words into the cream, before sticking the offending finger in his mouth, slowly sucking it clean. You flush hotly as you watch entranced, the line of his tattoo peeking from his lips as his finger slowly slides out.

“Good cake,” he husks, eyes darkening dangerously.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, embarrassed by the sudden heat that blossoms from your chest and settles into a deep ache at the juncture of your thighs. Overcome by the sudden urge to push your lips against his, to taste the strawberry and cream upon his tongue, you rise, guilt-ridden and ashamed.

Plans to watch the movie completely forgotten, you hurriedly mutter, “I’m going to shower,” and rush out of the living room.

 

* * *

 

Nyx swallows hard when he sees you walk out of the bathroom, toweling off your wet hair. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you without makeup before, but the contrast between now and earlier is stark. Your lips are no longer stained crimson and your eyes, dark and sultry before, are now clear and bright. As elegant as you looked before he much prefers you like this, naked faced with a sort of vulnerability that makes him want to envelop you in his arms and keep you tucked away from the rest of the world.

But as his eyes wander lower, his whole body tenses. You’re dressed modestly, cotton pajamas covering the curve and dips of your body, but the delicate peaks of your darkened nipples peek through the much too sheer material that’s dampened by the heat of your shower.

And it’s—it’s driving him a little crazy.

Nyx clenches his jaw as you sit down next to him, eyes trained on the television in failed concentration.

“Sorry I took so long. Do you want to shower too?”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?” Despite his best efforts, his eyes flicker down again.

“I–I mean it’s getting late…and we both have early mornings tomorrow…”

Normally he’d revel at the blush across your cheeks and how nervous you sound, but he’s far too distracted by—

“My bed’s big enough for the both of us anyways.”

Nyx almost chokes at that.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, we’ve shared a bed before.” You almost sound offended that he’s considering otherwise.

“Yeah,” he grinds out, “when you were a kid. You shouldn’t go around inviting men into your bed now.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Nyx, it’s _just_ you. It’ll be fine.”

Nyx isn’t sure why, but the words sting. His brow furrows as a deep scowl settles on his face.

Misconstruing his expression, you say, “Aw, you don’t have to think so hard about it. You can even make breakfast tomorrow.”

At that, he snorts. “Breakfast, huh? So that was the angle you were playing at, Princess.”

“So, what do you say?”

With the thoughts he’s been having of you all day, he knows it's a bad idea to spend the night in the same bed, but he’s a weak, weak man and the allure of being near you, maybe even holding you in his arms, is too hard to resist.

“Fine. I’ll stay the night…and make breakfast, Your _Highness_ ,” he says with a flourish of his hand.

“Good.”

Triumphant, you push him to the edge of his seat so that you can sit behind him and untangle his braids like you have many times before. Nyx opens his mouth to complain, but his eyes flutter shut just as quickly as you run your fingers through his hair, fingernails skimming the skin behind his ears. You work deftly through his hair, the knots and tangle of beads and string as familiar as the back of your hand. Ornaments in hand, you lean over him to place them on the table, but your chest accidentally presses against his back as you lean for balance. Nyx almost groans aloud when you do and maybe he’s crazy, but he swears he heard your breath hitch at the contact too.

Suddenly, it’s all too much.

He can’t.

Rising quickly, Nyx speaks with his back turned, hoping to hide the shameful evidence of his arousal. “Yeah, about that shower. I, uh, towels are in the cabinets above the toilet, right?”

Nyx doesn’t wait for your confirmation before striding off.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t need to look to know how hard he is, the tightness of his pants more than indicative of the effect you had on him. Quickly divesting himself of his shirt, Nyx lets out a low groan as he pulls the zipper of his trousers down, releasing the pressure that was building. Naked, he steps into the shower and turns the knobs, sighing as the hot water falls on his aching muscles.

He’s been thinking about doing this the whole day, unable to get the image of you trapped beneath him out of his mind. He had thought about it as he hurriedly undressed in the locker room. He had thought about it as he showered and the last of the Glaives left. And he had really wanted to, but it was wrong, and it was _you_ he was imagining, so he didn’t.

But now…faced with the prospect of sharing a bed with you…perhaps it’d be better to release the pent-up want than to accidentally harden under your innocent touch.

Nyx palms the thick weight of his cock, pausing a moment before he succumbs to his hunger, giving it a firm squeeze. He relishes at how quickly the shiny bead of precum forms, so potent is his need to assuage the ache deep in his belly after seeing, feeling your breasts brush against him despite the layers of fabric. Fingers teasing the ridge of his head, Nyx slowly slides them up and then down until his cock is well coated with his desire for you. 

Gods, he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t, but his thoughts drift unabashedly back to the sparring session earlier this morning, your hands restrained above your head as you bucked underneath him.

 _“A-ah…Nyx! Please,”_ you had begged, breathless.

But now you aren’t begging him to stop. Instead, your breasts are flushed and heaving as you struggle against his hold for more. He loves the look of desperation on your face, the dust of pink across your cheeks, the redness of your kiss swollen lips, but mostly, the poignant look of need that shines urgently in your dilated pupils.

Eyes closed tightly, Nyx strokes faster, imagining it’s your legs wrapped around him, grinding desperately along his shaft as you beg for him to slide deep into your heat. He can almost feel it, the throbbing cock that he’s been so arduously pumping disappearing into _you_ instead of his fist.

_Nyx, please…_

His breath quickens into erratic pants as his hips thrust in rhythm to the piston of his fist.

_A-ah…_

With practiced motions, he pushes himself closer, closer, _closer_ to the precipice until…

_I-I’m…_

Nyx clamps down on the back of his hand, silencing the carnal moan of your name as he cums hard into his fist, stroking roughly as thick milky strands of his orgasm shoot jerkily from the swollen tip of his reddened cock. Resting his forehead against the cold tile of the shower, Nyx slowly milks the last of it, imagining it’s your tight walls clenching around him, greedy for every drop. A deep groan rumbles from the depths of his chest as the tightening of his abdomen signaled a second, smaller release, leaking more essence on to his slickened fingers as his oversensitive cock twitches in satiated release.

“Nyx?” Your concerned voice from outside the bathroom jolts him from the heady haze of his orgasm, guilt reigning him back to reality like a douse of ice water. “You forgot to bring in clean clothes. I’m leaving your old T and sweats outside the bathroom, ok?”

He lets out a hoarse, “Thanks,” body relaxing only when he’s sure enough time’s passed and you’re gone.

Looking down at his still hard member, he slouches against the wall.

_Gods. What am I doing?_

 

* * *

 

By the time Nyx is done with his shower, your clock is already flashing **_1:26 AM_** in bright red letters.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” he says quietly when he sees you still awake, lying on your bed with a book open. Nyx stands sheepishly at the doorway as if unsure of what to do.

“I know, but I wanted to talk to you first…” Placing the book on your nightstand, you pat the empty space next to you.

“Am I in trouble, Princess?” Nyx jests as he pads over, hesitating before settling under the covers.

You turn onto your side so you’re face to face with him. Grinning, you scoot closer until your knees touch.

“That depends on how you define trouble. I got another call from Aunt Carys…I thought you said you’d call her.”

“Aunt Carys? Ma would have a fit if she heard you call her that. You know she thinks of you as her own.”

“That’s not the point, Nyx. Call her back. Or at least reply to one of her letters.”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Also, promise me you won’t go doing anything stupidly heroic while I’m gone.”

“It’s going to be hard for a hero not to hero.” His comment earns him a hit on the shoulder. “Alright, alright. I won’t run off to be needlessly heroic…as much as it’ll pain me.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I won’t.”

You stare at him blankly, not fully convinced.

“Princess, I promise. I’ll even do you one better. When you get back, I’ll let you drag me back to Galahd. We’ll go visit Ma. If you’re lucky, I might even bring you back to the place we used to count stars at; the valley that was always covered in crimson _caedisblossoms_ for miles and miles. Not a soul in sight. Remember how the stars shone like diamonds in a sea of black? Not like these dull specks we get here in Insomnia.. Maybe Libs and Crowe can come along too. Just like old times.”

Behind the darkness of your lids, you can picture the waves of _caedisblossom_ dancing with the wind spreading its perfume of honeyed dew, the indigo-navy sky illuminated by nothing but the distant flames of a thousand stars, the mirth of little girls and teenaged boys as they spin under the heavens, drunk with happiness until slumber carried them to even sweeter lands.

Opening your eyes, you peer into his unwavering blues. “Really? You _promise_?”

“I _promise_ ,” he repeats solemnly pulling you into his chest.

Appeased by his answer, you finally let your tired eyes droop, the warm heat and the woodsy smell of his body lulling you to sleep. “Good,” you whisper.

“You planned on having me stay over this whole time didn’t you?”

You answer sleepily, “Mmm, maybe,” nuzzling deeper into the crook of his neck like a housecat seeking the gentle warmth of sunshine. “I missed this.”

“Me too. I love you...twerp,” you hear Nyx rumble in the distance.

There’s a light caress across your knuckles and a soft press of his lips against your forehead as you let Morpheus claim you, feeling more content than you’ve had in years.

“Love you too…”


	5. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long hiatus. I have no real excuse. Writing has just become increasingly difficult with my increasing work commitments. But thank you all for sticking by me and sticking with this story. Every one of your comments has been a great motivator for when I was feeling stuck!
> 
> I wish I could promise and guarantee quicker updates but I hate missing deadlines. Just know that writing this story gives me so much joy and I am so excited for the story I have laid out. That said, I'm aiming for a February update for chapter 6 and that chapter 7 has been fully written and waiting for a _long_ time.

_"T_ _he peninsulas of Galahd have long been a meteorological mystery. Although latitudinally close to the Lucian crown city of Insomnia, the islands experience exceedingly hot and humid summers, reminiscent of jungles located in the southern tropics of Eos, and exceptionally frigid winters, similar to the frost-cursed lands of Gralea. Legends of yore recorded by Galahdan priests dictate that the islands were borne of the interdit affair between the Infernian and the Galacian. Created by the Pyreburner, before the Great War of Old, as a sanctuary hidden from the watchful eye of the Draconian. While there is contention among scholars on whether or not these legends hold true..._ _"_

_— **Anthropological Study of Lucius and Its Territories, 3 rd Edition**_

 

* * *

 

**_M. E. 756, 12 th of May, eve of departure…_ **

When Nyx awakes, it is to the dull pink rays of the barely risen sun peeking through your curtains. It takes him a moment to realize where he is, to realize why he's woken to a clean white ceiling instead of the poster of home that's begun to yellow and curl at the edges. The seizing of his heart subsides as the memories of last night come flooding back. He begins to reach for your hand, a habit of comfort from worse nights when his sleep is punctuated by the sharp whiz of bullets and the deflagration of missiles, but he stops when he realizes just how early it must be. Through the cracks he sees the sky is a dull purple, the kunzite sun still on horizon’s cusp.

Eyes squeezed shut, he exhales a shaky breath and turns to face you. You’re still curled in sleep, softly snoring with hair strewn across your face. The sight makes something in his chest rattle loose and against his better judgment, he shifts onto his side, his nose mere centimeters away from yours, to stare at the planes of your face, the gentle sloping of your nose, the curves of your lips, as if trying his hardest to memorize the shape of you.

As gently as he can, he brushes the stray hairs from your face, tucking them neatly behind your ear. The way your brow furrows as you lean in, ever so slightly, chasing the warmth of his palm makes him smile and it's moments like this, watching you sleep, where it's easy to forget who you are — what you really are.

 _Princess_.

Every fiber of his being vibrates with the need to stay like this, hand against your cheek while you sleep, a barrier between you and the transient peace of the world.

Nyx thinks he would do anything for you.

The soft exhale of his name makes his heart beat double-time.

No. He _knows_ he would.

And he wants, he _wants_ , but he knows he cannot.

So he pulls away and sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his palms, breathing in deep to tether himself back to reality. Another stolen look, he can’t help it. Your hair’s wild against the pillow and your mouth’s slightly open, the very image of Siren herself, and he feels it again, the tightening in his chest. He knows then, knew it before from the way he gravitated towards you, like a small moon at the mercy of Titan, but he truly _knows_ it now, that whether he likes it or not, he is royally fucked.

He loves you.

He loves you in a way he shouldn't.

It's not a question anymore.

Without another look, he leaves the warmth of happiness he knows he has no right to.

 

* * *

 

A smile falls over your lips as you wake to the sound of pans clattering followed by the click-click-click of the burner and the crackling-pop of aromatics sautéed in oil. As the fragrance of Galahdan brewed coffee mixed with the distinct aroma of schier murmeric in garlic oil wafts through your open doors, you stretch on your bed, happy as a fat cat that Nyx really did wake ahead of you to make breakfast, despite the obvious jest of your comment the night before.

Padding quietly to the kitchen, you pause by the archway to admire him, still shirtless and hair bed-mussed slaving away at your stove, back muscles stretching with each stir and flip of the pan. Perhaps it’s the way the sunlight falls upon his face or the familiar scent of spices from home, but you can’t help but think how nice it would be if this could be your mornings, always. The mere thought of this kind of future makes your stomach somersault.

And it's in instances like this that you wonder if what you feel for Nyx is something more...something more than the familial love and affection you've always held for him. Why else would your heart stutter at his smiles or your words falter when he stands just a little too close? How else could you explain the warmth that tears your soul asunder with the feeling of belonging, of being _home_ whenever you are with him? Or the ache of a void when he's gone?

Would it be so bad to ask him to be yours? To ask him if the smile he reserves only for you extends beyond something platonic? To ask him if the small touches of intimacies — a brush of fingers to tuck stray hairs behind your ear, an innocuous nudge of shoulders when you're walking, a press of lips upon your forehead in greeting — did they mean something? After all, the worst that could happen is he’ll chuckle and flick your nose affectionately as he tells you, like he has many times before, he loves you like a little sister.

Yeah…if this was the future you could wake to, what's a little risk?

As you open your mouth to call out his name, Nyx turns to shoot you a grin so dazzling it has you rooted on the spot. Words stuck in your throat, you blush at the image of him, Adonis personified with untamed bangs framing storm blue eyes that shine with the softness of morning light.

“About time you woke up, sleeping beauty,” he says with a chuckle, walking over to plant a kiss atop your head.

He is breathtaking. Eyes crinkled in laughter, hair undone. The words you desperately wanted to say, the very ones that whirled in your mind jumbles into something else entirely. Instead, you let out a shrill laugh that sounds fake even to your own ears.

“Is that shakshuka I smell? Gods, I haven't had that in years.”

Unaware of your sudden awkwardness, Nyx puffs his chest out a bit and says, “I wanted to make your favorite before you headed off.”

Nyx smirks at your surprise, looking annoyingly, and perhaps a little endearingly, proud of himself. Your face must have changed into one of delight because the smirk melts away into a grin so wide you find yourself smiling back with equal vigor. It takes all of you to stop from putting your hands around his neck, pulling him down, kissing him, and blurting out, ‘ _I love you_.’ It would ruin the moment; it would ruin everything — you’re sure of it.

Instead, you take a seat on the barstool. Fork and knife in hand, you cheekily jest, “Well, what are you waiting for? I'm starving!”

_Next time. I’ll tell him next time._

 

* * *

 

Breakfast is delicious, as expected. In all the years you've known him, Nyx’s cooking has never failed to impress when it came to two things: breakfast and grilled meat. He claims it’s because between the demanding hours Ma Ulric worked and Selena’s propensity to burn even soup, he had to learn to cook basic necessities to avoid starvation in the Ulric household, but you know better. Even as a teen, he had always been gifted with spices and fire. You remember fondly the way he would hang around the kitchen to help. Given the luxury, you’re sure that the little bar he had spoke so forlornly of would have been a hit, even here in Insomnia.

Moka pot down to the dredges and plates clean of even the smallest crumbs, you offer to do the dishes while he showered as a show of thanks.

Elbows deep in suds, you squeak at the scratch of his scruffy cheek against yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder, his hands spayed on either side of you on the marble counter. Since he didn't seem like he planned on moving anytime soon, you ignored him to resume cleaning.

“That was a quick shower,” you say idly as your hands work on the last of the plates.

“Mmm,” he responds absentmindedly, content with watching you work.

When the dishes are done, he doesn’t make any inclination to back away so you ask a bit hesitantly, “Don’t you need to get going?”

He sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. I need to head back and change before the briefing.”

You turn around to face him, but you inhale sharply when you realize just how close his face is now that you’re backed against the counter caged in by his larger form. His eyes twinkle at your response.

Eager to appear unaffected, you divert your gaze to his wrinkled shirt. “I’ve told you a million times before, just leave some spare clothing here.”

“That an invitation?”

“What? No! It’s just…that way if you stay over next time, we can report in together without you needing to make a detour home. Speaking of which, Drautos’ is going to be on your ass again if you’re late…” you trail off distracted by the smell of your soap mixed with his distinct musk.

It shakes you how much you want to lean in a little closer to savor it so you slip out from under his arms and run to the hallway closet to fetch his suit jacket instead. Reluctantly he follows you and takes the proffered jacket. He hovers at the entrance of your apartment as if hesitant to leave. Oblivious to the way he lingers, you proficiently unlock the door for him and step aside.

He takes a few steps out before turning around.

“You’ll be gone for a while?”

You nod.

Nyx walks towards you and places a hand on your doorframe, before shifting his weight onto his forearm and leaning in close. “Kiss for good luck?”

You quirk an eyebrow at his absurd request. The corners of his lips are curled into an unabashed smirk and he’s waggling his eyebrows goofily at you. Laughter bursts from your lips. Deciding to indulge him just this once, you lean in to peck him on the cheek, except at the last second he turns just enough to capture your lips with his.

Your heart skips a beat.

_He’s so soft._

Nyx is devastatingly gentle, his usual cocksure confidence replaced by a rare sort of apprehension. His lips move chastely against yours, but even then, a shock of longing and desire shoots through your being. Your eyes flutter close as you revel in the sensations, the heat that pools at the bottom of your belly quickly becoming a fervid ache.

Bringing his hand to cup your face, he brushes his fingers along your neck, hitting the sensitive spot behind your ear. You can’t help but lean into his touch as he deepens the kiss, tongue running along the seam of your lips until you give entrance. Involuntarily, you moan into his mouth. Ashamed of how provocative you sound, you lurch back, pushing him away.

Was that _you_ just now? Did you just _moan_ into his mouth? Actually, _wait_.

Did _you_ just kiss _Nyx_ _Ulric_?

Did _he_ just kiss _you_?

Confusion makes your mind race at a mile a minute, but none of your thoughts are coherent and you find you can’t form any words.

He seems just as surprised as you about what had just happened, but the flash of hurt that crosses his face as he watches you retreat is unmistakable.

“Sorry. I mean— I’m not sorry for the kiss, I’m sorry that— _fuck_.” Nyx runs his hand over his face frustration. He feels as if he’s talking himself into a hole. It’s especially hard to concentrate when you’re standing before him chest heaving and lips kiss-swollen.

All he wants to do is to grab your face and fucking kiss you again; this time longer, harder, deeper until he incites that delightful sound again and again and _again_. It sounded better than anything he ever could have imagined.

 _Get_. _A_. _Hold_. _Of_. _Yourself. Ulric_.

“Look, princess, uh…let’s, uh, talk when you get back.”

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you nod distractedly. Nyx throws another rueful look as he moves to leave, regret written plainly on his face. Instinctively, you grab the back of his shirt, a childhood habit you haven’t learned to stop.

“Nyx. I’m not— umm…I _want_ to— I–I…” You desperately want to tell him, but what if it’s too much? Too soon? Faltering, you settle with a half hopeful, half terrified, “I’ll see you soon?”

Perhaps it is the unspoken longing in your voice that stops him in his tracks, but he turns and smiles widely, beaming so hard his dimples show. The only thought that runs through your head, as the contagion of his smile has you beaming back with equal force, is how beautiful he is when he looks at you like that and how you want him to look at you like this always — now, tomorrow, forever. 

Nyx disentangles your hand from his shirt and brings it to his lips, brushing them softly against your knuckles.

“I’ll be waiting, princess, for as long as it takes. So, come back to me soon.”

With that, he turns to leave and you’re left standing in the hallway staring at his retreating back with a silly smile on your face. Your fingers reach up to touch your still tingling lips. Although you haven’t even begun your journey to Altissa, you can’t wait to be back. You’re not sure what this _thing_ with Nyx is or where it could lead, but for once, you’re exhilarated at the uncertainties the future holds.

As you replay the kiss in your mind, your heart soars but plummets just as quickly when you hear Prompto’s muffled yell from the apartment across the hall.

“Noct!”

The smile falls from your lips as you jerk up.

“Dude, why you still standing there? I thought you were gonna see if she’s ready.”

Over to your right, Noctis is indeed standing in his doorway still as a statue, eyes fixated intensely on you. Beneath the curtain of his raven locks, his frigid eyes shine keenly, a sharp contrast through the feather softness of his bangs. He holds your gaze when you meet his, face expressionless except for the small furrow of his brow. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel a wave of nausea wash away your previous euphoria.

_How long as he been standing there?_

“Good morning, Noctis,” you manage weakly.

His eyes narrow. Breaking eye contact, he swiftly walks past you and lets the door bang shut behind him.

“You’re late,” he bites out before rounding the corner.

You glance at your watch.

8:08 AM

 _Shit_.

 

* * *

 

Noctis is quivering in anger, and the fact that he _is_  only serves to aggravate him more. He can hear the blood roiling in his veins and the dull throb of the beginning of a migraine in his temples. He needs to punch something, needs to release this frustration before he does, says something terrible.

The last time he had felt like this, Ignis suffered the brunt of his rancor. He had lashed out as if it was Ignis' fault that he was powerless in the face of his father’s ailing health. Ignis had been so hurt then. He didn’t say it, but Noctis could see it plainly. His advisor turned frequent caretaker, has always been an open book: all decorum and bad puns until he is far too quiet that he doesn't even look like he's breathing.

This though… _this_ felt like betrayal. Logically speaking, Noctis knows he’s being stupid. What’s there to betray? You’re not his, he doesn’t own you, doesn’t dictate who you can or cannot see. But still.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. He saw the way Nyx had his hands on you last night, so inappropriately familiar with the way he rested his palm on the curve of your hips and so disparagingly possessive with the way he pulled you close to him. But all the same, it’s _you_ and it’s _Nyx_ and he’s always assumed…

Sure, he’s caught the Glaive staring forlornly at you on more than one occasion, but he had brushed it aside; you've become so stunningly beautiful that even he’s found his gaze unwittingly drawn to you at inopportune moments. Gods, he was such a fool. How could he not have seen it? How— _why_ does it even matter?

Noctis unclenches his fists. He made his decision long ago and he needs to stick with it. He has Luna and you, you’re his _sister_ he thinks with acerbic distaste. You’re—

“The burden of royalty must be a hell of a thing, your Highness.”

The sound of the Glaive’s voice startles Noctis from his thoughts. In his rumination, he didn’t realize he was standing dumbly outside the entrance of his condominium, and the knowledge that the source of his ire startled him from them only serves to deepen the frown already set upon his face.

“Ulric,” he acknowledges curtly with a nod.

“Quite a scowl you’ve got going on when you’re about set off on a trip of a lifetime to meet your lovely fiancée. Must be nice to have her join your entourage—”

“ _Not_ like I asked her to.”

“Petulance’s not a good look on you, Highness,” Nyx snorts. “You’re not as subtle as you think; I’ve seen the way you watch her.” When Noctis doesn’t reply, Nyx sighs. “I know I have no right to ask this, but from one man to another — take care of her, please. She’s a little off her game with everything going on with the Nifs, and if anything were to happen to her…” he trails off, jaw tightening in tacit sorrow.

Noctis looks away from the Glaive. It's obvious even to him just how much he loves you and it's something Noctis neither wants nor needs to see.

“Despite what you think, I do care for her.”

“I know you do,” Nyx answers with curious solemnity. “That’s the problem. Just— just keep her safe. And here,” he holds out a beaded trinket for the prince to take, “She’d never take this willingly from me, but it’s a little something from back home. Hopefully, it’ll give her some comfort on the road. Pass it on for me, will you, Highness?”

Noctis takes the trinket and turns it hesitantly in his hands. It is timeworn and brittle, almost as if it may break apart in his hands if he held too tightly.

“Got it.”

“Thank you and have a safe journey…your Highness,” Nyx adds with a slight bow.

Shows of fealty have always made Noctis feel a little awkward, so the young Prince mumbles a quiet “Yeah,” at the Glaive’s retreating back.

 

* * *

 

“Are you quite sure you’re alright back there?”

“Wedged between Lucis' all mighty Shield and the Prince himself? She's definitely the luckiest girl in all of Eos!”

“Lucky? More like stuck between a rock and a hard place. Noctis isn’t so bad, but Gladiolus is just huge.”

“You're not the first to tell me _that_.”

“Man, _c'mon_.”

Prompto catches your eye in the rearview mirror and gives you a reassuring thumbs up. The gunslinger had somehow noticed how unnaturally quiet you've been since the start of the journey and made it his mission to change that.

Unfortunately, the ever-perceptive Ignis catches the exchange and reprimands him with a stern, “Eyes on the road.”

Giggling, you slide back into your seat, slightly uncomfortably wedged between an all too warm Gladiolus and a rigidly frigid Noctis who seems like he's trying his best to give you enough space or not touch you; you weren't quite sure which with the way you'd catch him staring at you through the rear-view mirror.

Ignoring the cheerful back and forth between the four close friends, you stare up at the cloudless sky, soaking in the all too warm rays of outer Insomnia. Despite the rocky start, you find your lips curling into a smile.

It'll be quick. Straight to Galdin Quay. Catch the boat to Altissa. Spend a day or so there for the impromptu wedding ceremony. And then back to Insomnia.

…to _Nyx_.


End file.
